Gypsy Swing
by Kratos Hates Tomatoes
Summary: In which America and France discuss jazz. Oh, and kiss a little.


France and America had plenty of disagreements over the course of any given day. But there was always something they could talk about with no qualms, and that was jazz music. When America and his troops had come to Europe for the first World War, they had brought with them blues and jazz music. While both were popular in practically all of Europe, France and his people had not been able to get enough of either, particularly the sounds of jazz.

And only a few years later, his people had started making their own, molding them off the American classics. Whatever records they could find or make themselves were treated like gold in the underground jazz clubs during the Occupation of Paris by the Germans in World War Two. And this was why, even now, France was admiring his old vinyl record collection like it was a chest full of diamonds.

"Oh, hey, you still have all of those?" America's voice piped up behind France's left shoulder.

"Oui," He responded, "I would never get rid of my old musique."

"Ha, that's just like you, France. Always the sentimental type."

Francis merely smiled and placed one of the records on the turntable, placing down the needle to let the old sounds play. It started with a simple melody, played between a violin and a guitar – those were the musical sounds of Stéphane Grappelli and Django Reinhardt. Alfred seemed to light up a little - he knew who they were instantly and was eager to speak. "Oh! Oh! That's the Quintet of the Hot Club!... man, that Reinhardt guy, he really knew how to play guitar. Even with missing two of his fingers!"

"Oui, he did."

"Of course, _my_ jazz has always been cooler. It started everything, after all!" America let off a beaming grin, and France couldn't help but laugh.

"Oui, it did. And I thank you for it."

Normally, Alfred would have been completely off put by Francis agreeing with him, no trouble. But this was their language of jazz - and America knew exactly what to counter with.

"Of course, your jazz really is catchy. I still like it a lot." And he started tapping his foot to the swing beat underneath.

"You mean Jazz manouche?" Francis turned from his collection, watching America move to the beat now. It amused him that swing jazz of any variety had such an effect on people, even himself - he could feel his foot tapping.

America let out a laugh as he paused, just for a moment to think it over. "Nah, your name for it sounds ridiculous. 'Gypsy Swing' sounds way cooler. It adds a weird air of mystery and stuff."

"Well, if not for the Romani repertoire, it would not sound so enigmatic, that is true." In return, France chuckled, stepping over to his much-younger friend. "Dance with me, Amerique."

This had certainly not been in their jazz language before. Al was dumbstruck trying to come up with an answer. "Wh... huh?"

"You heard me. Dance with me." France held his hands toward America, head tilted slightly to the side, an impish smirk on his face. "You still know how to swing, non?"

"Well yeah, of course I do! But I..." No matter what sort of argument America might have had, he couldn't say it. So he paused, letting out a little huff of breath, before nodding. "... but only if I get to be the dude."

"Of course." Francis drew closer, his hand sliding up Alfred's right arm to rest on his shoulder. And Alfred followed suit, by placing his hand just a little above his waist, clasping their free hands together. At the next measure the two of them took off, gliding effortlessly across the floor in a triple-step.

After getting into the rhythm where they both were comfortable, America's hand moved down to France's, and France knew what was coming up next. Drawing back, he spun into Alfred's arms, then out again, shifting his free arm out in a flourish, before drawing forward again and getting back into step. The pairs of blue eyes locked together, and Francis gave a bit of a nod toward their clasped hands, indicating he had another plan. Al nodded in agreement, pulling his body away so Francis could dip under his arm in a spin, and then return the same way to clasping their hands again.

The only problem was, America had underestimated how tall France was, and France had underestimated how low he'd needed to shift, and they had awkwardly gotten out of step trying to correct it. But France only laughed and teased, "A little rusty, are we?"

"No way, dude. Just lemme try again, 'kay?" Al pulled Francis back to the basic position, looking up and nodding with the beat as he counted in his head. Then he looked straight ahead again with a smirk, at France, and they got right back into step. This time, Alfred pulled back and was prepared for his partner to dip under his arm, stand there for a beat, then duck back under, arriving perfectly back in step.

This time, it was almost effortless. Francis even smiled and murmured "Excellent!" under his breath. But then, the chord changes signaled to them that the end of the song was drawing near. Not a moment too soon, Al wrapped his arms around Francis' waist and back, pulling him into a perfect dip. In fact, it was all too perfect, even as the music died down and all one could hear were the scratches of the needle. Francis slowly leaned his head in, and placed his lips against Alfred's.

This had definitely not been in their language before. Alfred was so astonished that he ended up loosening his grip on Francis, who plummeted straight to the floor. "Aïe-!" France slowly sat up, rubbing his upper back and neck. "Putain de merde! You dropped me!"

"Whoops, uh, didn't mean to." America gave him a sheepish smile. "Just wasn't expecting that. You're OK though?"

Francis nodded, indicating he was all right. Then he stood up, grumbling under his breath, "Some hero you are, Amerique."

"Wooooah, hey now. That was too far."

"Well, are you not supposed to sweep someone off their feet and get a kiss in return, if you are the hero?" Rolling his eyes, Francis made his way over to the record to pull the needle off and put it back in its sleeve. However, a hand stopped him once he'd gotten it a few inches away from the record. It was America's, naturally.

"Hey, France. Could we, uh... try that again? You know, like the last move."

Francis looked over at Alfred, seeing nothing but sincerity in his face. That childlike innocence, even after all America had been through in his few-hundred years, was what caught France's attention every time. He couldn't help the corners of his lips drawing upwards into a smile. "I suppose that would be possible, oui."

Without saying a word (though his eyes contained obvious excitement), Alfred gently drew the needle out of Francis' hands, and placed it back on the record, several seconds before the ending. Then, the two of them took each other's hands, waiting for just the right moment. Francis drew closer at the precise beat, as before, and Al wrapped his arms around the strong back. Once more, he drew Francis down into a dip.

They watched each other for a second, before Francis once again moved to place a kiss on Alfred's lips. This time, though, it went off without a hitch. Alfred kissed Francis in return, pulling the other's body closer with his arms. They stayed this way for a little longer, until Alfred set them both upright again, and Francis drew away. "Wow. That was..."

"Better than you expected?" France laughed softly, giving him another quick peck on the corner of his mouth. Then he drew to the record again to pull of the needle and place the vinyl back in its sleeve, as carefully as he had drawn it out.

"Well, yeah." This time, Alfred gave a bit of a grin in return. "Though I'm not going to be able to look at our jazz talk the same way again."

Though his back was turned to America, a mischievous grin appeared on France's face. "That was the point." He placed the vinyl back in its proper spot in his collection, and turned to face the other nation.

America simply gave a laugh and patted him on the shoulder. "Well I guess I really don't mind, I mean, it was pretty good the first time."

France raised one eyebrow in suspicion. "Even though you _dropped_ me?"

A grimace and a sheepish grin were all America could really respond with. "Sorry, France. I won't do it again, I promise."

But that was enough for Francis. He drew close to his friend again. "It is all right. You are forgiven, mon chéri." And just like that, it was back to before, Alfred rambling on about how he remembered this record, or that record, or how his music started it all. But, it was enough for Francis. After all, they had plenty more opportunities in the coming years to talk their language of jazz and gypsy swing. And, hopefully, they'd have plenty more opportunities to dance.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: If you would like to know more about the jazz movement in France, I would highly recommend the following links. Also, do look up Django Reinhardt (and the Quintette du Hot Club de France, too) on Youtube. He's a fantastic jazz guitarist from Belgium who was of Romani descent. His family made their way into France when he was young and from there, the rest was history. I highly recommend the songs "Minor Swing", "Swing '42", and "Djangology" for Django Reinhardt, and I'd recommend "Les yeux noirs" for the whole Quintette du Hot Club. <em>

_The Wikipedia article on "French Jazz" or "Gypsy Jazz"_

_Jazzpartout dot com slash jazzmanouche_


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